


The First Nowell

by hestia_lacey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hestia_lacey/pseuds/hestia_lacey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was their first motel room, and their first Christmas. The first Dean held on to, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Nowell

**Author's Note:**

> The first in a series of short Supernatural fics inspired by Christmas carols. 'The First Nowell' seemed like an appropriate place to start!

Dean remembers looking up at Christmas lights, peering out at them between the fingers of frost inching across the windowpane of their motel room. He remembers their glow settling on the skin of his hands where they braced against the windowsill, and the way the glass fogged up from his breath. 

He remembers the shadow of his dad curled up on one bed, hands fisted around mom’s scarf, the one she’d left bunched up on the backseat of the car behind Sammy’s baby carrier. There were books stacked high on his bedside table, a handful of newspaper clippings feathering out of a cheap notebook on top of them, and a sketchbook full of black and yellow drawings that Dean wasn’t allowed to look at peeking out from beneath a pillow, pages already curling at the corners. 

Most of all, though, Dean remembers Sammy. He was swaddled up in blankets on the room’s second bed, watching Dean at the window with his big, dark eyes and reaching curious, baby-plump hands out to him. He’d giggled softly when Dean twitched the curtains open a little further, when he’d let the Christmas lights filter in and twinkle across the sheets. Later, Dean had pinned the curtain to one side, just enough to let the red-green-gold of the lights glow against the motel's over-starched bed linen. Sammy'd been transfixed by the colours, and Dean had never been able to forget the way he'd smiled at him for giving so simple a gift.   

It was their first motel room, and their first Christmas. The first Dean held on to, anyway.   

Across the parking lot, a neon angel reflected across the familiar, sleek black hood of his dad’s car, yellow halo flickering. 

_Angels are watching over you_. That’s what his mom used to say.   

Looking up at the lights, squinting at the stars shimmering beyond, Dean had pressed his hand against the coldness of the night beyond and prayed that it was true.   


End file.
